


Don't Tell Me it's Not Our Time

by TollboothPhantom



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (partial), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bakery AU, Chance Meetings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Rich!Phil, Secrets are Bad, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Burn, bamf!dan, but not in an abuse sense in a mild streetfight sense, drug mention? lol, idek why this turned so serious but ok, not main characters tho :), tw bruises/injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TollboothPhantom/pseuds/TollboothPhantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just your typical bakery AU, with a slight twist; Dan may or may not be dealing under the table to pay for college, and Phil just might be the best thing that has happened to him in 18 years. If only he doesn't find out.<br/>Aka the AU where Phil has freckles and thinks that the tough guy who works at this cupcake shop is pretty cute :)<br/>(Title from After the Disco by Broken Bells--super dreamy song and i highly recommend<3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi so I am amped to be writing this :D first time writing for this ship and its p exciting!! If you are reading this, thanks so much for taking the time on my story--I also spend hours on fanfic websites so we may have that in common :) sorry for long note but pls bear w me for this chapter--little rough, I understand and will get sunshine in ASAP!! :^) responses very very appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil backstory, if u like :*)

Dan couldn't say he was unfamiliar with this line of work.

Living with his unpredictable uncle Larrson for most of his admittedly pathetic sham of a childhood, he had taken part in a lot of shifty situations that he would much rather let fade into the dark recesses of his mind. However, this one plea was not destined to be answered. The glint of sharp metal under flickering street lamps, smudged and cloudy plastic bags pressed between sweaty palms, and the memory of blooming bruises flaunted like a weary trophy were etched into the backs of his eyelids like the last tendrils of that vivid dream you can't ever seem to forget. Sometimes it felt as if he should claw his eyes out and refuse to see any more of it ever again. But usually he just kept on living.

And although he learned from a young age to utilize his towering height and sharp tongue to escape his demise on numerous occasions, he liked to entertain the idea that this was not the only type of knowledge he possessed. It was four grueling years at the rundown high school in the area that had gotten him here. Four seemingly endless years of viewing lectures from the back row, feeling the fearful stares of his peers on his back, the sudden hush and avoidance of eye contact as soon as he set foot in a room, and generally forgetting that he had a voice at all with how little he used it. Larrson always scoffed at his determination to finish school, suggesting not so lightly that he drop out, as it was getting him nowhere. Dan was emancipated and living on his own by the age of 16, in a scraggly apartment where the heavy locks he secured any possible entrance with cost more than the actual rent of the place. He reluctantly cut a few deals every now and then, just to keep up with the cost of living, as Larrson sure as hell would never help him out.

The day Dan graduated was bittersweet to say the least. He had actually _made_ it—he had somehow earned acceptance to a nearby college by the name of Maltrus, and _finally_ hoped to close this struggling chapter of his life for good. It was only when he stood to accept his diploma, letting a small smile grace his features for the first time in what felt like forever, that it hit him. He was completely, utterly _alone._ He scanned the crowds a bit frantically, searching for any familiar face, but fell short. It was nothing but a wall of vague, indifferent features. Even Larrson couldn't be bothered to show up. He tucked his hard-earned diploma under his robes, fingers drumming against its smooth, curved surface as he made his way home, not bothering to stick around for the after-party.

All he could cling to that night, the shadows of the the bars on his window painting jagged scars of moonlight against his still form, was the idea that things could change in the future. Things _would_ change in the future. He dreamt of a prestigious degree from Maltrus, a life of comfort, and ease, and maybe even a friend or two. But really, he would settle for just about anything other than the life he led now.

  
  


Ironically, Dan was touring the _goddamned_ campus when they called to tell him that they had dropped his scholarship. He had faced disappointment before; low test grades, phony clients, the usual. But this was different. It was as if they had pulled the very ground out from under him, and he was left staring into the deep abyss of nothing that was currently his future.

He must have looked pretty shaken up, because a hulking boy with cropped fawn hair and stern facial features stopped his authoritative stride across the lawn to glance at Dan curiously. 

"You okay there, Bud?" Dan remembered him then. His name was Jimmy Tatro; he had met him a day ago at the orientation ceremony. He was a new recruit of Maltrus college, like Dan was. Or rather, like Dan would be if he had his goddamn scholarship. Dan curled in on himself further, clutching at his chest in the overwhelming quality of the moment. This was just what he needed; to look like a weak-ass idiot in front of this entire campus. _Lucky I wasn't going there next fall, I guess,_ he sighed to himself.

"Daniel? That's your name, right?"

The far too formal name that Jimmy used with him, tasting like a bitter slap of stern words and chilled evenings, snapped Dan back into reality, numbing the cold vertigo that coursed through him. "Yeah. Just Dan. Sorry, I just... they just canceled my scholarship here." He really didn't know why he was telling him this. It wasn't like Dan to go about flaunting his life story to anyone who showed the slightest bit of interest. Maybe he didn't really care, though, at this point.

"Aw, jeez. That sucks. Can't you just pay for tuition? Maybe get a loan?" Jimmy clearly wasn't grasping the fact that scholarships were given to people who lacked the funding needed to actually go to college. An irrational wave of anger swept through Dan, and he fought to hold it down as he prepared to explain to Jimmy the basic idea of financial aid. It was all too much in that moment, though. He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath, feebly attempting to convince himself of the life that continued to flow through his body.

"No, Jimmy. I can't. In case you haven't noticed, I am flat out broke. I couldn't possibly pay off a loan." An uneasy hope rose in his windpipe, constricting the last few words as he saw Jimmy's eyes light up with an idea of some sort. Jimmy glanced around the nearly empty courtyard shiftily, clumsy irises leaping back and forth like the darting tongue of a snake.

"Wellllll... it seems like you need some quick cash... is that right?" The slow cadence of his words plucked at Dan's impatience. He held back a fiery "you don't say" in recognition of the sheer size of the thick biceps flexing before him. This was not someone that would be wise to provoke.

"Yes, it is."

"Not that I am into this stuff," He held up both meaty hands in a barely comforting gesture of surrender, "but... my cousin runs a business selling, um, substances. With, uh, calming properties." It took Dan only a split second to process his cryptic statement, but he wasn't exactly as fazed as one might expect. "I don't want to make any assumptions, dude," Jimmy's speaking quickened brusquely, "it's just, his last dealer quit on him, and the job pays a lot of money." His eyes narrowed slightly as Dan nodded thoughtfully. Part of him was triggering major alarm bells about getting involved in this situation for the second time around, but he suppressed it with the pure hope that he might actually be able to attend college. He could actually live a life of leisure, like those rich jerks in the east side of town. God, how he wanted to be one of them.

And, as he said before, he was no stranger to this type of operation.

 


	2. Rich Kids

"You sure this is the place? A cupcake bakery?" Dan muttered into the phone pressed against his cheek, gazing up at the small, hardly threatening, cracked pink building in front of him. A large sign was suspended above, bearing the words _Maria's Masterpieces_ in a flowing, elegant script. “Maria's Masterpieces?”

“One and the same. Named after my beautiful wife.” Jimmy's cousin, Rob, excitedly spouted the answer to the question he never asked.

“Is this some sort of joke? I thought this was a weed-dealing job, not some dumb stint in a bakery on the wrong side of town.”

“Dude, chill. The cupcake shop is just a coverup. I promise, no one is coming to this side of the neighborhood to buy cupcakes. Your customers will come in, and order a green tea cupcake. That's one ounce. Or two green tea cupcakes. That's two ounces. Too complicated for you?”

“No, sir.” Dan grumbled, heading for the door with the giant jumble of keys sprawled out across his palm. He began to jam them into the locks one at a time.

“Okay, bud. I'm going to set you loose. You know what to do. We split the profits 70-30. If I catch you with more cash than you should have, you better get on your running shoes. We clear?” Dan held back a snicker, attempting to recall the last time he had run voluntarily.

“Yep.” He shoved open the door, flipping the phone closed as he surveyed the far from glamorous eating establishment before him. Faded lime green paint covered the walls, chipping off in random spots. A battered counter stretched across the width of the building with a curved glass display case attached. Several different varieties of cupcakes lay under the fluorescent glow of the lights above; he had to admit they didn't look too bad. Even if no one would buy them anyway.

Dan hopped over the counter, pushing through a dark green curtain to check out the stash in the backroom. Reaching over for the crowbar, he pried open a large case to see stacks upon stacks of the green herb. He filtered it through his fingertips, familiarity prickling through his veins, before placing the lid back on gently, as though it were full of dynamite. He wasn't an idiot. Of course he had noticed the white powder trapped beneath that certainly was not baking flour, and the jutting crystal forms that shot dark alarms into his blood. As soon as the ringing in his ears died down, he strode back outside, taking his place behind the counter.

He was fine playing dumb for now. Although it may not be the most moral route, Maltrus college was finally in sight.

  
  


By the fourth day of work, Dan was a bit less optimistic.

The pay was a dream, he couldn't deny that. The customers were less of such. Countless negotiations and intimidating deals had left him drained and exhausted. He could barely find the energy to drag himself home at night to his drafty apartment.

It was about 4 or 5 in the afternoon and Dan was slumped against the counter, considering how much effort it would take to drag his mattress all the way over here, when the demoralizing scrape of the door being shoved open brought him to his senses. Sort of. “Hey.” He mumbled, not bothering to address the customer fully yet. He preferred to delay these interactions as much as possible. He braced himself for a gravelly grunt of some kind, which seemed to pass as a greeting for these masses, and was extremely surprised to hear the deep, yet soft and warm voice that replied.

“Hello.” Dan glanced up immediately, taking in the sight before him. The boy was nearly as tall as Dan, probably around his age, with neatly combed black hair and a sunshine yellow sweatervest over a white collared shirt. _God, what a dork._ Who wears a sweatervest these days? Only private school kids. Dan can pretty much guarantee that he was a private school kid. He was a little surprised that someone of his position would be buying these products. _I guess everyone needs a little fun, sometimes._ He had just assumed that a person like him would opt for sipping a hot cup of chamomile and finishing off a sudoku for a good time.

The boy's clothes were clearly ironed carefully, and a small smile was creeping across his open, friendly looking face. His eyes were bright as he sauntered over to the counter, eyeing everything carefully. Dan sighed impatiently, wishing he would just hurry up with his order. Maybe if he just helped him along a little bit...

“How many grams?” Dan had no idea why he had leaned across the counter so dramatically. It wasn't as if anyone else was even there, let alone listening.

“Grams of what?” Questioning, strikingly vibrant pale blue eyes met his. “Sugar?” The boy laughed, a comfortable, easy chuckle. “No worries, I'm not watching my weight or anything. Unless I should be?” He looked down at his flat stomach, a worried look taking hold of his delicate features.

“Oh, no, man! I didn't- I didn't mean that at all.” The look of relief that spread across his already paper-white face calmed Dan down a bit, for whatever reason he was tensed up in the first place. Finally, it occurred to him that maybe he really was here for something other than drugs. Imagine that. Dan was going to have to learn how to sell cupcakes really fast.

His wide eyes carefully examined the stupid little green sign that sat on the counter, courtesy of Rob, reading _Ask about Maria's special recipe green tea cupcake!_

"Let me guess," he started, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his thin lips, “you are... Maria.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Dan scowled slightly, although he wasn't too bothered by the interaction. Surprisingly even to himself, he was actually enjoying talking to this idiot. Dan scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably, noting the boy's expectant expression. “Oh! Right, um, it's... Dan. My name, that is.” That enticing smile widened, accentuating the small arc of nearly invisible freckles spattered across each of his cheeks.

“Cool! I'm Phil.” His entrancing eyes, a myriad of colors chaotic beneath their glassy veil, held Dan's for just a beat too long, dropping immediately to the selections below. “It's my little brother's birthday today, so I figured I should pick him up a treat on the way home. Any recommendations for a hyperactive 4 year old?”

Dan grimaced a little involuntarily, attempting to pass it off as a sneeze or something. Children were one thing that he did not enjoy. “Ummm... this lavender cupcake is very... purple. If kids are into that, I don't really know. I've got some sprinkles in the back if you want.”

“Yeah, he'd love that, I'm sure!”

Dan nodded, beginning to box up the precious parcel carefully. He headed to the storeroom, ignoring the large crates containing ounces upon ounces of less than legal substances on his way to the small cannister of pearly orange sprinkles. For some reason that he couldn't quite place, he felt a lot more guilty about the sinister contents of the stacks of crates than he had before.

“Dan?” Phil's voice derailed his train of thought. “You okay back there?”

“Yep.” Dan plastered a smile across his tired features, ducking under the thick curtain to return to his place at the counter. “Just a little lost.”

“I get that,” Phil began to rummage through his pockets for some cash, “this is a pretty new business, isn't it?” Dan couldn't help but notice how he had almost carelessly rolled up the sleeves of his pristine white shirt, exposing smooth, slender forearms.

“Uh, yeah.” Dan bit his lip and stared down at the lavender cupcake, fingers fidgeting as he concentrated far too hard on getting the sprinkles on perfectly.

“Kind of a weird area for a cupcake shop, right? I mean, I just can't really imagine too many of the people here getting very into their baked goods.” Oh, they enjoyed getting _baked_ goods all right. Just not the type of baked goods Phil thought that he was talking about. He giggled lightly at the thought, a ridiculously adorable sound, not unlike the soft chiming of bells or happiness itself.

“We do fine.” Dan just kept staring down at his hands for some reason as he handed him the little brown box. He watched Phil grasp it with slender, careful fingers, hugging it against that ridiculous yellow sweatervest that actually didn't look that bad on him. Almost cute, for lack of a better word.

“O-oh. Well, glad to hear it. Thanks, um, Dan.”

“See you around, Phil.” Dan couldn't bring himself to look up until the little door jingled shut.

Lazy midafternoon sunshine streamed through the window, highlighting Phil's lean figure as he strode out of sight. Dan sighed heavily, running his fingers through his messy auburn hair, and pressed his forehead against the cool counter, forcing the stale air in and out of his lungs. Warm sapphire eyes swallowed him as soon as his mind traveled.

Goddamn rich kids.

 


	3. Baking?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello to anyone reading, i really appreciate it!! As always, i'm a slut for feedback ;))) i dont have anyone read over anything before i post it, so it can kinda be a warzone out there, i understand! best of luck, soldier :)

Dan wasn't sure exactly what he was waiting for the next couple of days. Every time the door creaked open, he felt himself perk up a tiny bit involuntarily. A thick cloud of anticipation seemed to hang over him every second of the day. It was insufferable. Inescapable. And he could only guess at what it meant.

The one thing he did know was that he certainly was _not_ waiting for a certain upper east side boy to come back. People from that area were all the same, no matter how kind they seem to be. They are all rich jerks, even if their faint freckles are adorable. Even if their eyes are warm and trusting, partially hidden under a fringe of dark lashes. Even if a light flush colors their cheeks when they say your name in that sweet, low voice. Even if... Dan found himself losing his train of thought all too often these days.

Oh. Yes. Right. Phil was the worst type of person. Strangely enough, though, Dan wasn't all too unhappy when he did come back.

“Hey, Dan!” The shopkeeper in question ducked under the cupboard at lightning speed, half to hide the few loose scraps of green that had stuck themselves to his apron and half to mask the near smile that had inexplicably seized direct control of his facial muscles at this one opportune moment. He wiped the loose bits off of his apron and resurfaced, facing Phil with what he hoped was a disinterested scowl.

“Phil.” Dan drawled easily. “ 'Sup?”

Phil grinned, shrugging as he slid onto an empty seat behind the counter. Dan envied his easy movements, as his own legs bounced and jostled nervously at the appearance of Phil's disarming smile and drawling smooth twine voice. “Nothing really. My brother's cupcake looked so good the other day that I decided I had to try one for myself.”

“Hmmm.” Dan furrowed his brow in mock concentration, squinting at the display before him. “I'm guessing you're not going to go for the sparkley purple cupcakes this time?”

“You never know.” Phil's mischievous tone lightened in pitch as he continued to ponder his choices. “I might opt for something more manly, though.”

“More manly? Well, look no further. You will find nothing more masculine than this!” Phil giggled, a tinkling that rippled through Dan's chest with the light clatter of sea-wash glass, as he examined the cupcake that Dan had held up to him- a suffocatingly pink and blue cotton candy flavored monstrosity.

“Sold.” Phil beamed up at him, and Dan couldn't help but smile as he moved to put it back in its case. Something about it felt wrong, though. Brittle, and far too crumbly. It finally occurred to him that these cupcakes had been out in this display for around 2 weeks. Since no one else ever bought them, he hadn't even thought of replacing them. In conclusion,

“ _Shit.”_ Dan growled. Meeting Phil's slightly startled gaze before him, he tossed the swirled cupcake into the trash can. “These are stale as hell, man.”

“That's fine. I'll just get another flavor. I wasn't too attached to the whole idea of being seen in public with a pink cupcake anyways.” Phil smiled reassuringly.

“Nah, man, I mean all of them. A new batch was supposed to come in today but, uh, some of our bakers are out sick. Things can get pretty slowed down around here.” Dan fumbled to get the words out, praying that he hadn't said something stupid enough to give away why he was really here.

“Oh, well. I guess I don't have any business being here anymore, then, do I? I better be off then, it was nice seeing you.” Dan may never be sure if he imagined it or not, but Phil's parting grin seemed so off, so melancholy. An overwhelming panic rose up through his chest. Suddenly he couldn't let Phil leave like this _._ He couldn't let Phil leave and never come back. _God._ Dan was too insufferably overdramatic for his own good sometimes.

“Phil! Wait!” He turned, a spark of hope alight in his piercing blue eyes. At least, that's what _Dan_ saw. He was slightly biased, if you couldn't tell. Not only was he unexplainably attached to this random private school kid, but he was at a complete loss as to what he was going to say. “Um.. I could bake you some cupcakes right now. I mean, if you have the time to wait. Wouldn't want you to go home hungry, right? But, um, it's fine if you can't stay. But I would be glad to. If you want to stay, that is.” Dan cursed at himself internally. _Look like a complete idiot in front of the first friend I've ever really had? Check._

“I've got all the time in the world.” Phil turned back towards the display counter, lightly closing the door behind him.

Dan exhaled out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. “Cool.” Now his second problem. He had never baked a cupcake in his life.

  
  


“How did you even get a job here? You do know this is a bakery, right?” Phil caught Dan's bluff effortlessly- by the confused way he was eyeing the various ingredients gathered in front of him, it was probably pretty obvious he had no idea what he was doing. Invisible strings of laughter pulled at the corners of Phil's already jovial eyes, and Dan couldn't bring himself to resent his words.

“Shut up. I just do cashier work.” Dan raked a hand through his horribly uncombed hair.

“Welllll... I don't want to tell you how to do your job, but you might want to start by mixing the flour and sugar together. Then beat the eggs and add the flavoring to the mix and--”

“Auughhh,” Dan groaned, leaning away from his intense scrutiny of the flour container, “don't you _dare_ tell me that you know more about cooking than me. I work in a goddamn _bakery!_ ”

Phil just shrugged again, bright eyes catching the other boy's. “I know my way around a kitchen.”

“Be my guest, head chef Phillip,” Dan swept his arms towards the mixing bowl in a ridiculously overdramatic gesture, “show 'em how it's done.”

Phil didn't even flinch, grinning like an idiot as he stepped behind the counter. “This feels so official! It's almost like I work here!” His lean arms shot out towards the register, pressing buttons aimlessly. “Easy there, new recruit.” Dan snarled in a hopefully menacing tone. “Last I checked you were here to--” His breath cut out as Phil stepped back, right into his chest. It wasn't the impact that jarred him, but the unexpectedly comforting feel of Phil's warmth so close. Dan froze, attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat for _just this one second._ He gulped drily, no escape plan in sight. Luckily for Dan, Phil took that into his own hands.

“Sorry,” He breathed hesitantly, face ducking out of sight as he repositioned his lanky body. “Didn't, um, know you were. Right there.” Plunged back into the familiar cold air, Dan managed a casual chuckle. “Just show me how to bake cupcakes, Phil, not how to work a rugby tackle.”

A mockingly bright smile spread across Phil's face as he rose his fingers to his forehead in a salute. “Will do, captain!”

  
  


As it turns out, they didn't work terribly as a team, even if only one of them had any idea what they were doing. The next hour was a blur of large amounts of cringeworthy, undiscussed hand brushes; Dan managing to fail at his single job of handing Phil the right ingredients; and the ever-present knowledge in Dan's head that _anyone_ could walk in here at _any_ moment and clue Phil in to what a lowlife he really was.

He considered telling Phil what he did for a living, in all seriousness.But Phil was beginning to feel more and more like the last shred of something hopeful in his life and Dan was in too deep; grasping at the threads of Phil's warmth and reminding himself for the first time in a while that there was an escape from who he was now.

Selfish, Dan conceded. But he was bound to lose Phil's company at some point, so why not later rather than sooner?

“Alright, they should be good to go in about an hour.” Dan silently wished he could say the same for his guilt, but for now settled on quietly battering back the dark folds that slouched into his mind.

The light dusting of powdered sugar on Phil's nose as he shoved the finished product in was absolutely angelic. Dan choked back a fond laugh, raising an eyebrow and pointedly resting his gaze on the spot. A soft blush flooded Phil's cheeks and he pawed at it, staring hard at the ground.

“Don't sweat it, Philly. Necessary sacrifice. Everyone knows frosting is the best part of the cupcake.”

“Oh, Yeah?” That smile was back again. Melted carnival irises met Dan's enticingly as the other boy touched a finger to the mixing bowl, slowly lifting it to his mouth and soaking in the smooth flavor. “Beg to differ.” His sweet grin set Dan off kilter without warning. “It's all in the batter.”

Dan sucked in a breath as the mixing spoon was tilted towards him. _Was this some kind of test?_ His pulse pounded in his ears. It was an eternity. After a life of dealing and scuffling on the streets, there was not a lot that could faze Dan. But as their two forms connected (albeit through a _spoon,_ but intimate contact nonetheless if he did say so himself), he felt the closest to fainting that he had in years. He tasted nothing, though the mixture was ice on his now burning tongue.

“S' great. Really. You-you're right.” It was shocking that Dan managed to croak any words out at all, sounding as if he had been hibernating for a good half-century.

“Called it!” Phil smirked proudly, slipping into the seat across the counter with ease. Dan's eyelids snapped rapidly and settled, waking himself from his sleepwalking state. His elbows found the cool glass below in support.

“Are you seriously telling me you don't lead some secret double life as a baker?”

“I really am.” Phil chuckled, stretching his arms back lazily behind him. “My parents did decide that having a chef working for us was pretty unnecessary as soon as I was old enough to hold a spoon, though.”

“A private chef? Damn, Phil. Got a few butlers hangin' around? Maybe a personal shopper?”

“Well, no, not a personal shopper... that's just, um... excessive.” The silence hung thick around them as it hit Dan that he was straight up _serious_. _This guy has goddamn servants running his house while I'm stuck dealing weed to low-life creeps?_ He had guessed Phil was wealthy, but... _damn._

“Is that, like, a yes, then? On the whole butler thing?” Dan could feel straining beads of sweat prickling beneath his skin.

“Well, I mean... yeah.” He let out a low whistle, surveying Phil's tensed face before him. Phil hustled to explain. “But they're hardly servants, I swear! They're like family.” Dan's ears perked, barely nimble enough to catch the last mumbled phrase. “Closer to being my family than my parents ever have been.”

The cupcake batter sat cold between them.

“...Phil.” He hesitantly began, foolishly stepping into uncharted territory with no map. _Idiot._ _What am I going to say now?_ “No one should have to feel that way... I... that's hard, I know. I've had my share of absent parents, too. I'm... really sorry, man.”

Phil shook his head too quickly, lighting fire to the shivering dregs of whatever trail of thought he had ventured upon, and leaning forward again. “No, I'm sorry. What am I thinking? I have all the advantages in the world and still here I am, unloading my little problems onto you. Guess I need a lesson in appreciation, huh?” His light laugh was bitter, genuine ruefulness tugging at the thin lines of his features, as he cut off any attempts at rebuttal.

“Money isn't everything. I mean, tell that to my college tuition, but it really is true.” Dan gazed up at his raven haired companion, realizing he had been focusing on the dirty tablecloth clenched between his fingers for too long.

“Your college tuition? You're going to college?” Phil's strained face immediately collapsed into a grin. “That's _amazing,_ Dan!”

“Was. That's the key word here. I _was_ going to college.” He seemed taken aback, as one should at the cold words that slipped between Dan's lips. But he couldn't stop there; he _had_ to admit to those wide eyes exactly what he had been denying himself for so long. “Why do you think I took this stupid job? It won't even begin to cover it, but it's what I can do.”

Phil's mouth was gaping wide, and Dan knew this was one area they could never fully connect on. He wasn't sure Phil could ever fully understand, not that he blamed him all too much. “You know, if you really need the money, I could... I could probably find a way to get it for you.” Phil's voice was thick honey, syrupy and hopeful.

Dan _couldn't_ accept. Not with the way he had met _him_ in the first place; a lousy drug dealing coverup. It did throw Dan for a loop, though, as to whether he would have accepted should he have happened upon Phil in a wholesome grocery store, or the aquarium down the street, or, perchance, an _actual_ _fucking cupcake shop._

He wanted to tell himself honestly that he would never in a million years cash in on this friendship, or, whatever you would call this _thing_ they had, but in the back of his mind the desperation held out. _Jeez, Dan, why not just cut out the middleman and start your hooker career now?_

Dan mentally slapped himself, ignoring the temporary appeal of hypothetical low-key prostitution to shake his head distractedly. Larrson's sneering face was canvassed against the backs of his eyelids as he tried to shove away the echoes, who gladly assured him that he never would be the honorable, successful man he so sought to be.

Phil's bright eyes widened in worry, clearly misjudging Dan's extended, grousing thought process as something else altogether. “I—I mean, you know I don't aim to look down on you, or anything of the sort. I'm only trying to help out, it's—it's really the only way I know how.”

“Dude, don't worry about it, it's really generous of you, I—just really need to earn it myself.” The words held so much more truth than he had ever realized, saying them out loud. But right now he was drowning in Phil's darkening irises, vibrant colors churning with anguish below their glassy surface, and Dan would have said anything as long as it gave him that one last gasp of clean air.

“Please, just, don't let this change what you fee—think of me.” Phil blurted suddenly, grasping at Dan's sinewy arm with tentative desperation.

“What are you-? Why would I ever...”

“I've lost far too many friends because of this—I guess who I am, you know, where I come from, automatically makes me some kind of stuck-up prince in their minds but _please_ don't let it be like that for you. Dan, please, I _know_ you aren't like them. Please—“ Dan cut him off before he could lose any more oxygen, laying a hopefully comforting hand over his startlingly strong grip. It nearly broke his heart to watch Phil implode before him, and the less civilized conscious self within him sought to teach these “friends” a lesson about how wonderful Phil really is.

“Never in my wildest dreams.” A genuine smile fought its way across Dan's features, and for once he didn't supress it. “Now—deep breaths.” Phil glanced up gratefully, meeting his eyes, when Dan realized just _how_ close they were right now. He could count the tiny freckles like constellations spattered across Phil's cheeks, if he felt the need. Phil was unrestricted, soft face caressable before him, eyelashes beating like a dragonfly's pulse, plump lips _imploring_ Dan to close the gap—the oven timer cried shrilly. It was an electric shock, a cold-blooded execution of the moment they had shared.

“The cupcakes!” A forced chuckle that could have come from either of them. Phil jarred his hand out from under Dan's, allowing his vertigo eyes to fall under the elegant spike of jet-dark locks. The room was unbearably warm, and for some reason Dan hadn't noticed the sweat beading on his temples earlier. He beat his collar wildly back and forth like a set of wings in the uncomfortable warmth of the moment; cursing himself for flying too near the sun once again. _Flap as hard as you want, Icarus, we all know it's too late._ Oh, he was falling all right. And it was Phil, that ray of brilliant sunshine, who was sure to finish him off this time.

The clattering of the cupcake tin against the hard counter broke the focused silence with a jolt. Dan reached out a hand to steady the shivering metal before him as Phil hastily stammered out the requisite “there's somewhere I need to be” excuse.

“What? You haven't even gotten to eat one of our hard-baked cupcakes!” The mock indignance was back, and Dan was thankful for the coverup. He surely didn't expect the shy smile that painted Phil's lips, though.

“I didn't come here for the cupcakes.” He lifted his jacket off the back of the chair, making his way towards the door with a quiet “It's been nice, Dan. Thanks.”

“Hey, Phil.” His own voice caught him by surprise, and he noted the willing way Phil stilled in his tracks, weight pressed against the shabby door handle. “Who you are, and where you come from? They're two completely different things.”

Phil's eyes danced in the paling light, and it was all Dan could do to commit the sight to memory, to hang onto the shimmering edges that warped and curled like an ancient, treasured photograph. He clung to the moment as Phil nodded his assent, lifting up the corners of his scarlet lips, and if he was bothered by Dan's outright staring, he didn't show it.

The words Dan had nearly tacked onto the end of his proclamation died at his lips, wasting away with the stale air too far from the opened door. _If not, I am fucked beyond belief._

Phil's steps were lighter as he turned towards the sheen of glass before him and paced away, fingers lifted a touch higher as he waved good-bye. Dan's eyes couldn't help but track the fluid silhouette mutely, and it wasn't until an actual customer wrenched the doorknob minutes later, barging through the doorframe with purpose, that he finally collected his chaotic thoughts.

“Get me a couple of those, er.. green tea cupcakes, boy.” His gnarled hands shook beneath thick sleeves.

Dan focused on a speck of dust tumbling through the stifling oven air. The man began his sentence again, impatience tugging at its low pitch, when he was interrupted by Dan's sudden musing.

“... Do I want to be better... _for_ someone else? It's what I've wanted as well, but, somehow it's... _sharper_ with him—no—I can truly feel it may happen if I have Phil here with me!”

“Boy, if you don't quit yer yammerin'...”

Dan was back promptly with a clean baggie and cut the deal without issue, even while fighting down the embarassed flush spread across his cheeks. The older man grumbled and griped his way out, but Dan didn't miss the hint of a smile hidden under his thick cloud of facial hair as his visage was caught in the windowframe.

Dan glanced down at his shabby apron, unbrushed hair, possibly never-washed-ever jeans. He grinned at his reflection in the window nonetheless. Maybe a reason was the kick-start he needed to build himself up once again.

And, as fate or whatever you may call it would have it, he seemed to be recently acquainted with one hell of a reason.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so notes r pretty annoying I apologize :o but super important thing to add!! I dont mean to be preachy but i do not condone changing to fit another person's mold of who you are supposed to be whatsoever, and I really hope that is not the impression that this chapter gives off. I hoped to make it more a vibe of "change for yourself, but if someone or something can speed you along in that process and serve as inspiration (as long as it doesnt divert from the end result that is going to give you the most satisfaction and general wellbeing) then, the more the merrier!!"


	4. Party Animals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This chapter's not all that different from the way it used to be, yet it still took me about 20 years to put up, apparently! Hope all is well in your lives, and thanks for reading as always!

Phil visited often over the course of the summer, always prompt in his perfectly ironed, color coded outfits, clashing deliciously with the parade of crumpled gray and black Dan's customers and reluctant self had begun to sink into.

Dan had never liked Phil for his fashion, though. It was that easy smile that he could drown in; the soft lilt of his voice; the ebullient twinkle in his eyes that left Dan scrambling for reasons to make him stay longer.

He wasn't alone in his desperation for company, either. Phil would come to him on both good days and bad, the subtle nuances in his behavior the only indicator of how hard life had been on him lately. And it seemed too much to ask, too large a disruption of their heartbreakingly _comfortable_ coexistence, to insist that he pour out his own disappointments and fallen expectations for the sake of even sympathetic curiosity.

Dan himself was nervous the week before he started classes. He had somehow earned, borrowed and ashamedly threatened his way into enough money for one year at his beloved Maltrus College, and was determined to attend, even if he never could go any farther.

He was perfectly happy to spend the preceding time wallowing in his own self-doubt, but Phil was determined to celebrate.

“Come on, let's do something! I _never_ get to see you outside of this dingy bakery!” Dan scowled a bit at Phil's pleading. Maybe he had grown a little protective of his homely little establishment. He had even begun to enjoy baking the cupcakes that only Phil bought. Phil's doe eyes widened further. “Bad choice of words, sorry. This place is.. charming! In its own way. I just mean I never see you anywhere but here!” Dan huffed stubbornly, polishing the cracked counter before him in slow circles. “Come ooonnnn, Dan. I don't even know what you look like in non-fluorescent lighting! Does your skin sparkle? You _do_ have the whole brooding vampire look down--” The dish towel was slammed down a little less forcefully than intended.

“And where would you have us go? A movie? Would we sit in the back row and share a popcorn?” Dan was only half-joking. Not that Phil needed to know. The blue-eyed boy was too busy considering his options to notice the dangerous edge of sincerity in Dan's words, though.

“I know!” His already open face lit up like a candle flickering on in a jack-o-lantern. “You could come to PJ's party this Saturday! You could meet all my friends and play games and get buzzed and... I don't know, it would be fun, I just know it!”

“Easy, tiger. I don't exactly _do_ parties.” Nevermind the fact that Dan had never been _invited_ to such an event. His intimidating aura was something most people tended to shy away from, _most people_ not including Phil, for some reason.

“Come onnnnn,” Phil moaned, stretching himself over the freshly washed counter like a large cat, “Have you ever even been to one?” Dan decided not to inquire whether drinking alone in his apartment counted. He was guessing that their definitions of the word differed.

“...No. I _guess_ not.” At that point, Dan realized he had already lost this argument, and Phil knew it, judging by the triumphant smirk he displayed proudly. He stood up to leave, jingling his car keys merrily between his fingers.

“Dress nicely. Pick you up at 8?” Raven locks melted into the stifling summer air, and he was gone before Dan could even answer.

  
  


  
  


Dan had no idea what “dress nicely” entailed in this type of situation, so he settled for letting his black zip-up sweatshirt hang open over the soft, faded Muse t-shirt he had owned since freshman year. He managed to find his most recently washed jeans, but refused to comb his hair in a small act of rebellion. He hoped Phil would be at least slightly annoyed.

The unknowing victim of this small-scale betrayal pulled up five minutes early, just as Dan was wiping down the counter and getting ready to close up. He made sure to move extra-slow, ignoring the unusual sight of the shiny, pale-blue convertible across the street from the row of 'abandoned' buildings with hastily boarded windows and shattered glass littering their walkways until the exact stroke of 8. He slammed the door closed behind him and slid into the curved leather passenger seat, enjoying the satisfying click of the lock as they took each other in.

 _Oh._ So _this_ was what Phil meant when he said 'nice.' He really did look it, in every sense of the word. His legs were coated in denim, that smooth, seamless kind that had to have been sewed with threads of the night sky. A gray heathered cardigan followed the curve of his toned arms, only partially buttoned over a wispy dress shirt that was such a pale, delicate lavendar that it would look white to anyone who wasn't looking closely. His hair, jet black and striking as usual, was combed into soft tendrils, and his teeth shone white against lips that just _had_ to feel as tender as they looked when he smiled hello. Dan dropped his gaze to the clean car interior, attempting to avert his thoughts.

“You look nice—” Their eyes met in surprise as they uttered the same words, the _appropriate_ words. Phil's cheerful voice had risen above Dan's fond grumble, but lowered to a wistful tone as he reached out to rub the worn fabric at the hem of the slightly unkempt boy's shirt between his fingers absentmindedly. “ _Really_ nice.” Dan coughed slightly, struggling to find a breath at that moment, and Phil pulled away instinctively, reaching for the gear shift. _Real smooth,_ hissed the berating voices in his whirling head.

Dan had rolled up his sleeves before stepping into the car, possibly reminiscient of a certain afternoon in which he had met Phil for the first time, yellow sweater sleeves edging up past his elbow, so he had next to nothing to do with his nervous hands during the car ride. He fidgeted with the radio dial, shattering their eardrums with volume 20 screamo, subjecting unwilling sidewalkers to relentless fiddle music (which ended in Phil forcibly rolling up the window), then letting the rapid wordplay of Spanish broadcasters whip his brain into a frenzy. After an emotional rollercoaster of a soap opera advertisement, which couldn't have been more than 30 seconds yet still contained more murders and scandal than Dan's entire lifetime (Dios mio!), the madness finally descended into the popping beat of salsa music.

Dan went all out, reaching into the recesses of his memory for the moves he had learned at that Zumba class his uncle had forced him to infiltrate. Phil finally broke, after holding it together so well the whole drive, rollicking laughter shaking his thin shoulders as his knuckles turned white gripping the wheel.

“Dan—stop, I can't—I can't concentrate!” He struggled to take a breath, refusing to sneak any more looks at thin hips gyrating in the wide leather passenger seat.

“Not until you Dance for me,” Dan's heavily accented words faded out, straining to remember anything at all from Spanish class, “ _Bonita!_ ” Phil's high laugh chimed out.

“You are so bad at Spanish! That means pretty _girl!_ ” His outraged tone was a poor disguise for his clear amusement. “Do you even know what you're saying?” Dan simply shrugged.

“Well, you _are_ the prettiest girl I know.” Color flooded Phil's pale face, but he ducked his narrow shoulders into an elaborate shimmy anyway. Dan clapped along with the music, continuing to sway and move with the beat as they plowed on through the waning evening light. Phil's shoulders pulsed erratically, betraying his dismal sense of rhythm. It didn't matter to Dan; the vibrant grin on his face was all he cared about.

Finally, though, the time of reckoning had arrived. The engine purred to a halt, the soothing sounds of guitar and maracas disappearing with it. The porch lamps glared at them like blinding searchlights as they untangled themselves from Phil's convertible. Dan squinted as they approached the posh marble stairway, grey strands of mineral crossing and trailing through their milky white surroundings. The columns towered regal before him, proud and sentient. They reminded him of Atlas, with their elegant curving platforms holding up the weight of the world. Or, at least, this mansion, which seemed perfectly capable of housing the entire world population and then some.

Dan was nearly falling over backwards, the vertigo taking over as he traced the endless lines, branching and curling and climbing impossibly high into the absolute midnight abyss, when Phil coughed gently. Dan blinked, steadying himself and reluctantly moving towards the heavy gold door knocker that Phil stood poised to activate.

“PJ's house is really special, isn't it?” He looked up at the taller boy almost shyly under his heavy lashes; Dan almost caught a hint of nervousness in his gaze, and Phil took a shallow breath before he spoke. “The Roman influence is really something. That's how it always is with these people, though.”

 _Crash._ Dan winced with the heavy knock on the door, what seemed like their last moment of peace cut off by none other than Phil himself. Footsteps thumped closer behind thick oak. He met Dan's eyes suddenly, something akin to panic flitting about beneath his calm iceberg irises.

“Dan, I'm—”

“Phil! Hey mate, what's happening?” The door was flung open in an instant, revealing a cleanly rumpled man, with an easy smile widening at the sight of them, wearing... _sigh_... a sweatervest. Much cuter on Phil, is all Dan could say. He couldn't help but recognize the momentarily fearful gaze that landed on him.

“ 'Sall good, PJ. This is my buddy Dan, here. Dan, PJ. PJ, Dan.” Happy-go-lucky Phil was back in full force, the mirth practically bubbling out of him. With a polite nod, they stepped over the threshhold and into the inferno. It was a madhouse of clashing designer outfits, collared shirts to silken skirts to perfectly pleated trousers. Bouncing pop music crashed over the crowd in waves, habitants swaying and spilling suspicious drinks in its wake.

“Try not to get too crazy.” Phil's eyes widened slightly before spiralling off into the tide, PJ eagerly tugging at his sweater and already beginning to mumble something Dan couldn't make out in his ear. It wasn't until 7 full minutes of standing awkwardly alone, pretending not to notice the wary way that the crowd parted around him like a shark entering a hive of small fish, that Dan was approached, a girl probably around his age pushing the infamous red cup between his stiff fingertips.

“You looked like you could use a drink.” Her smile seemed too tight on her porcelain skin, as if it might shatter at any moment. Dan raised his eyebrow, taking a small sip of the liquid. Craft beer, as expected.

“My name's Marlene Kingston, by the way. You may have heard of my family's company?” She toyed with the glimmering chain around her neck, diamonds probably worth more than his annual salary peeking out tauntingly. He took a gulp of the tasteless carbonation.

“Um, yeah. Sounds familiar. I'm Dan.”

“Dan...?” Marlene's eyes narrowed, already exasperated with his apparent disregard for basic conversation skills.

“Oh, um, Howell. Dan Howell.” _Why should it matter anyway?_ Apparently it did, as the glimmer of expectation in her dim eyes evaporated with the words.

“Hmmm. Never heard of that.” She considers his appearance once more, cold blue eyes critically analyzing every inch of him. Her irises look a bit like Phil's, really. But they are judgemental, unlike Phil's, and missing all of the warmth that he manages to convey with a single look. They make Dan shiver, and for a violently different reason than when he usually gazes into a sapphire abyss.

Realization sparks at her pinched features, Dan's sullen posture only confirming her beliefs. “Your parents must be some kind of gangsters, huh?” A shrug racked her bronzed shoulders. “Guess we can't all stay off the streets and make our money honorably, like my family.”

“No, I don't... I mean, my parents are... gone.” Throat dry as ash, Dan stared down into his somehow already empty cup. He wished he could offer some kind of rebuttal, but he really didn't know a whole lot about the people who had brought him into this world, and his words felt soggy inside his mouth.

“Ohhhh, _I_ see. So _you're_ the drug ringmaster. I'll keep your secret, as long as you keep one of mine.” Her words were low, calculated, purring like some predatory feline. She breathed her unwanted promises, alcohol dripping off of her disdainful air. “I've always liked a bad boy. Want to show me the high life?” Condescension weighed down the edges of her pretty eyes. “Could be the first and last time someone like _you_ came this close to someone like _me.”_ The sharp edges of her rings caught in the furls of his skin as her hand ran up and down his arm, less of a comforting gesture and more of a viselike talon grip. Dan shook it off, catching Phil's wide, worried eyes from across the room. _What was he even doing, bringing me here?_

He didn't bother holding Phil's gaze, nor Marlene's venomous stare, as his dizzy footsteps took off. _What the hell had they put in this drink?_ Whatever it was, he needed something even stronger.

“Hey, Danielle, right? Vodka pong in the basement!” _Bingo._ Instead of correcting the Jimmy-worthy butchering of his name, Dan simply nodded, following this navy and cream cardigan down an endlessly winding staircase. The cotton candy voices from the music upstairs ebbed with every step, descending into nothing but a lone, throbbing beat. The lights had dimmed in the downstairs den, a calm atmosphere descending upon its inhabitants. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting gratefully to the lull in frenzied activity up above.

After a clumsy chorus of 'hey's and 'sup's, Dan found himself gathered around the expansive ping pong table, letting his own solemn voice weave into the cheers as someone (Carl? He had never been great with names) bounced his shot off the rim of a glass. The unlucky fellow groaned, threading the strings of his hoodie through his fingers as he came to stand next to Dan, watching the next attempt disinterestedly.

“Damn, really could've used that drink tonight.” His shoulders were slumped, straining oddly against the hood he had pulled over his straight brown locks.

“How so?” Maybe Dan really was curious; curious of what could possibly bring someone like this down. There he stood, so far above the measly inch or two that separated them, yet somehow still able to doubt himself maybe just as much as Dan.

“My dad says I can't go to community college to be with my girlfriend.” The boy, who Dan had now decided was named Chris, let out a slow breath. “I had thought I was excited about going to Maltrus, but it just seems lonelier without Becca the more I think about it.”

Dan could only nod numbly, slightly confused by the conflicting glint of mischief in Chris' sad eyes. He offered what he hoped was a sympathetic smile, but really, how could he possibly relate? To have all the means to go to college, make a decent life for yourself, get out of the same old rut that you had unknowingly dug yourself into, and just drop it all for one person was beyond him.

It occurred to Dan, as he clasped the smooth white ball between his fingertips, that he had never really had anyone important enough to do that for. No family or friends that he would go to the ends of the earth for. He had thought he had Phil for a while, had been foolish enough to believe that someone like Phil would be there for him too, but that had only brought him to this ridiculous circus designed to establish his inferiority.

Dan tipped his wrist back, steeling his whirling thoughts into a bitter focus. It was just him now, as it always had been. And if he could sink enough vodka shots tonight, maybe his dingey one-room apartment would feel a little less lonely.

He kept his anger, and even more prominent, his heavy resignation at the forefront of his mind as he sunk shot after shot, biting back the sting as burning liquid trickled down his throat. Every offhand comment, so harmless within the steel fortress of privilege, gnawed at him from the inside, drowned only by the tasteless burn of alcohol.

His body was mechanically precise, even though it felt as if he were slipping further and further away on the inside. The masses crowding around the table were multiplying, their yelling and cheering so sincere as Dan cleared the last cup that he could almost trick himself into believing that they wouldn't just forget him the next day.

The triumphant glass, perched between his fingertips, went ice cold as he met a familiar pair of eyes across the room.  _Phil_ . His brain was muddled. How long had he been here? How long had _Dan himself_ been down here? Suddenly it was all too much; he was suffocating on the thin air around him. Unsteady on his own two feet, he fumbled the last shot of vodka into Chris' hands, ignoring his surprised “Thank you?” and fumbling his way up the stairs. 

Dan couldn't be sure if he heard footsteps behind him, or just the echoes of his own mind as he stumbled inside a brightly lit bathroom, collapsing into the clean porcelain bathtub. He must have somehow shut the door on his way in, because a hesitant knock rang in his ears not a minute after he had settled.

How did he know who it was, through the churning haze lurching against his forehead? The gentle cadence of those hands Dan knew so well bore into his skull harder than a freight train hurtling forward, and here he lay with one shoe caught in the tracks.

He supposed that his noncommital grunt was apparently the Phil equivalent of a flickering neon Welcome sign on the bathroom door, as the boy with darkness seeping slowly from his dyed hair into the rest of him edged in quietly and guided the latch into place. A tiny, apologetic smile slithered onto his blurred features; jet black, soft porcelain, melting ice, a smattering of soft caramel, all blended seamlessly into this abstract portrait that had somehow captured Dan's friend. In his alcoholic stupor, Dan was ready to fall into this flat, smeared dimension right along with him. But before he could even begin to imagine the appetizing possibility of living his life in a painting, three-dimensional Phil crept towards him, concern weighing on his already dark brow. He reached out a tentative hand, and placed it on Dan's forearm, cautious as though he might move to bite him. Which Dan obviously wouldn't do. _Probably._

“Dan, you drank... so much—stop looking at me like that!” Phil looked down, but not before a blush painted his cheeks, which had been looking decidedly more hollow than usual this evening. Dan was surprised he hadn't noticed earlier. Blurry snapshots of his friend's slightly withdrawn behavior that night lapsed lazily through his mind, and he wanted to yell at them to _hurry up and get to the point._ Phil fought down the anxious giggle and looked back with a face even more resolute than ever, save for the touch of color fading beneath his nearly imperceptible freckles. “ _Sooo_ much vodka, Dan. Not far from, like, a metric ton. Are you even, are you... alright?”

He could have been asking about the vodka. Clearly, the sheer amount was enough to bat more than a few eyelashes, but somehow Dan knew that he was asking more than that. Remembering the reason he had retreated into that dim basement in the first place, he shrunk away from Phil's touch, attempting to ignore the thrill of pain that shot through familiar arctic vertigo eyes.

“Please, Dan, just... what's wrong? Did Marlene say something to you? Don't listen to anything she says. Or are you... are you mad at _me_?” His eyes shone, slick in the pale light from the moon outside. Phil had to have at least a few beers in his system; maybe he was an emotional drunk, _like my uncle,_ Dan vaguely considered. He couldn't stand people like that, who poured out all they had and then some, and then pretended nothing had happened the next day. Maybe he wouldn't know what Phil would be like tomorrow, or any other day for that matter. Maybe Dan would never get to know a sleepy, hungover Phil, lidded eyes blinking up at him over the steam of gritty coffee and forgotten, lukewarm toast. A heaviness Dan didn't know he possessed dropped even farther within him, and for the first time all night he regretted at least a few of those vodka shots.

“Why did you bring me here?” His tongue felt heavy, slippery in his mouth as he forced the words out. They sounded deep, like some ancient language forgotten over the centuries. Phil hesitated in front of him, crystal eyes widening. Dan found himself frustrated by his silence, filled with the need to occupy the space between them with something jagged and hard, barbed wire curling around vicious shards of broken glass. “Damnit, Phil, _why_ did you bring me here?” The words repeated themselves like a mantra, holding his suddenly weightless form up from the inside. “Did you just want to show me how these people, _your_ people, live? How much better it is than my shitty ass life? Well I have news for you. I _know_ that. Always have. I don't need these jerks you associate with lining up to take me down a peg to teach me what I've grown up knowing. Do you think it was easy, Phil? Do you think it still is?” Dan's breathing was heavy as he collapsed into the silence.

“I don't. Not at all.” Phil shook his head slowly, as if nodding off the dredges of a some kind of bad dream. “And I _know_ all that I am going through is a speck in cmparison. But it isn't easy for me, either. And I guess it was selfish of me to bring you here... I guess I thought you could—I don't know—make it more... bearable. For me. I'm really, _really_ sorry Dan. I didn't mean for it to turn out this way, I _swear._ ” Dan sucked in a deep breath in the heavy wake of his words.

“...Was it all just a game to you? See how quickly you can pretend to befriend the poor loser at the... the bakery on the wrong end of town? I really thought... I don't know. I don't have a lot of friends, Phil. _Real_ ones, for that matter.” Before Dan even had time to lament his ridiculously embarrassing confession, Phil's soft voice replied.

“Me neither.” A shaky breath caught in his throat, and fire lit up his eyes in the cool night air. “But how could you ever, _ever_ think that this was a... a _joke_ to me? That I was being dishonest to you all those times I confided in you? Dan, I don't know if it's obvious enough, but I _need_ you.” His tone softened as he refused to look Dan in the eye, tracing spirals in the smooth alabaster tub. “Scares me how much, sometimes.”

“...You're my best friend, you know.” The sappyness oozed out of Dan's tone like molasses, leaving only an embarassed, pinched wheeze. _God_. Maybe _he_ was the emotional drunk.

“You're mine, too.” Dan ignored the perplexingly wistful edge to Phil's voice, allowing himself to drink in his lazy smile. “I'm sorry I forced you into this thing. I didn't... I didn't know you wouldn't...” Dan let his words trail off into the darkness, completing the thought himself. _Belong._ That's what he couldn't bring himself to say.

“These people are so far above me, Phil. I can't even begin to reach them. It's like they have goddamn wings and just soar low enough to taunt me sometimes.” Dan's words blurred together, much like the scene before his eyes. He didn't push Phil's hand away as it roamed up and down his back in a soothing rhythm. A look of contemplation crossed Phil's features, and for a few seconds Dan thought he wasn't going to respond.

His soft voice cut through the night air nonetheless, honey thick in its seriousness. “If that's what's in the sky, I would much prefer to stay grounded with you.” His brows quirked up, mischief lightly dusting the slant of his sea glass eyes. “I highly doubt it, though. The sky is for those who deserve it.” He stood up decisively, tugging gently on Dan's arm and wrenching the window open fully. As soon as Dan was standing, swaying only slightly as the blood rushed to his head, Phil lifted one long leg out into the open night air. “What do you say, Dan? Let's fly.”

Dan couldn't help but smile at his dramatic show, ready for him to clamber back inside, clumsy tugging at his lanky frame as he wound through the crowds of people to lead him out the front door of this suddenly suffocating house. The realization that he was absolutely serious didn't hit Dan until both legs were out the window and Phil released his hand, perching precariously on the windowsill of the _fourth floor_ bathroom. He leveled a wink at Dan before slipping off into the thin night air.

“Phil, _NO_ ,“ A strangled shriek escaped Dan's chapped lips as he rushed forward, one hand helplessly grasping at the empty space where Phil had stood moments ago. The tears pricked at his eyes, not even having the decency to wait for reality to set in. He couldn't bring himself to look over the edge, to face the horror of what had just happened. A loud giggle interrupted his panicked thoughts, though, sounding far too much like Phil to be disregarded. Finally, Dan leaned over the sill, pitching out a hesitant “Phil?” with his tremulous voice. As he forced his eyes down, Dan's hysteria steeled into something else.

“Phil, you little prick! You scared the hell out of me!” Dan seethed down at Phil, who sat lounging on a large trampoline beneath the window, grin unwavering on his fair skin. “What kind of person goes around jumping out of windows?” His words came out bitter, but he couldn't help the hint of amusement that crept into them. Moments later, Dan was out on the edge himself, eager to get away from the pulsing swell of the party inside.

He didn't fall. He jumped; leaped into the inky midnight sky, letting the swirling breeze take on the weight of his being for just this one minute. His breath came out in a tiny, lost cloud, twisting and draping itself upon the invisible ridges of air. Dan felt light, lighter than he ever had, actually.

The woven elastic of the trampoline found him roughly, tossing him up for another weightless moment. His head came down near Phil's, and he felt the other shift toward him unconsciously, fingertips brushing shyly.

After several beats in a silence that felt meaningfully peaceful against the backdrop of the night's events, they made their way to the metal rim, knees buckling slightly as they hit the ground.

They were moving, floating, _running_ maybe, though it was unclear as to where they were actually going. Dan chanced a wary glance over his shoulder, determined to catch one last glimpse of the place he would never return to.

The artificial light of the white mansion receded into the distance, and he couldn't help but remember the dangerously familiar attraction he felt to that pristine palace, like a moth flitting frantically towards the light. Crumpled wings and lithe, lifeless bodies flickered across the backs of his eyelids; betrayed by their own nature, propelled by desire into their very own demise. Dan supposed that it was his own curiosity had destroyed him in somewhat the same way; he didn't belong here, with these people. But at that moment, with Phil by his side, the faint feather-touch of his breath and the lilting curve of his ethereal lips, Dan knew that Phil didn't either. And maybe that wasn't the end of the world for either of them. He found himself lost in the dizzying clockwork of their footfalls, or maybe it was the burning vodka settling into ash in his veins, but they were stumbling through the empty streets without a hint of direction, the space between them withering like the last strands of daylight.

“Dan,” Phil breathed into his ear, warmth curling against Dan's chilled skin. “I don't want to go home tonight.”

Dan just grinned, happy to finally have something to offer. “I might know a place.”

 


	5. Lazy Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I have is an online spell checker and a prayer.

The keys to Dan's apartment evaded their lock skillfully, clattering and falling against the cool metal slots gracelessly. His hands shook slightly, but not out of shame. He wasn't worried about Phil's reaction to the underwhelming interior of his apartment. Phil, who rarely seemed to focus on what was in front of him, hadn't even blinked as they pulled to a stop in front of the graying building caked in peeling paint layers, nor as they swept up the cold cement staircase littered with long-forgotten wrappers, casings, and who-knows-what.

Dan didn't have to worry about being judged anymore, not like he had to with the admittedly few others he had brought home. This was different. _Phil_ was different.

They pushed inside as soon as the lock gave, simultaneously giggling and hushing each other as they struggled to be the first in through the door. Dan found the smooth wood behind him, pressing it softly closed and leaning against the frame as Phil stumbled to the center of the room. Curious eyes examined every detail, from the unmade futon on the ground to the growing pile of discarded band t-shirts Dan never got around to washing.

“It's not a lot, I know.” The world was spinning around him, Phil's earnest eyes the only thing anchoring Dan as the slightly shorter boy finally turned and moved toward him. The gap seemed so large; an 18 year journey, maybe; yet he was so close before Dan could force his eyelids into a heavy blink.

“It's plenty, believe me. It's quite you.” Dan grinned vaguely at that, or maybe it was the way Phil had reached out to gently trace the invisible live-wires beneath his skin, sizzling and popping under Phil's gentle, sloping touch.

Dan was melting under his shifting gaze, and Phil's wistful sunshine warmth drizzled over the cold room like a Dali painting before him. Dan, amidst his own stupor, _needed_ to make it through the haze, so he could reach him; he suddenly _had_ to let Phil know how much of him he had become. He had to settle for collapsing in Phil's arms as he set adrift of the doorframe that held him up, letting Phil's stuttering arms weave themselves around him.

Dan's apartment had never been so alive; even just the act of stumbling across the messy floor, sprawling across the dismal mattress in a tangle with Phil gave it a breath of something lighter; something Dan knew he could never capture on his own. He made a desperate grab for the covers at the foot of the bed; allowing Phil to reach them and envelop them in the fabric with the most precision he could manage, fingers fumbling and shaking from the alcohol, or something else? Dan's mind was too muddled to riddle with the issue further. They lay apart, yet connected at the sharpest edges; fingertips clung to shirt hems, knees jostled far beyond their allotted space, until Dan allowed a whisper out into the silence, barely recognizing his own voice as it took on a slurred agenda of its own.

“Thanks, Phil.” He continued, under the glow of his companion's waiting, questioning gaze. “For making this.. all of this.. a lot less lonely.”

“You feel it too, then,” Phil's dark eyes wavered under thick eyelashes, “The emptiness. Even amongst all those people. It always finds a way in, doesn't it?”

Dan's best attempt at a nod clumsily surfaced, his face lazily nuzzling the pillow. “I feel it around me, always have. Growing up, there was no one there. I've made it this far, but...” he leaned closer, attempting to still the flutter of his eyelids. “I can't go to college alone, Phil. I'm so afraid.. what if it takes this part of my life too?”

“Dan, of _course_ you won't go to college alone. I'll be there, I promise. You know I will.” Dan could feel warm breath scrawl etchings against his skin and he managed a heavy gulp, realizing for the first time how close they had come. The blurring freckles gracefully scattered across the bridge of Phil's nose only drew him in.

Too close; meandering eyes finally caught one another in place, swimming amidst the haze, and Dan could only nod in agreement, gratitude, anything really, unable to tear the fishwire thread binding them. So close; it was too much, the gentle arch of Phil's eyebrow shaded slightly by the curve of hair that always seemed to be slightly in the way. Dan reached for the tendril, satisfied at this one piece of Phil that his high-end barber couldn't seem to take from him, feeling the hesitant pull of Phil's long fingers brushing against his jawline at the same time, tracing the invisible lines that he seemed to follow so obediently.

Dan shivered slightly under the feel of his fingertips, half-lidded eyes finding Phil's own once more. He was tilting closer, the pale moonlight strips between them thinning. The shifting collision of their lips, slightly chapped from the stale night air, was quicker than the time it took Dan to gasp, to breathe him in. They melded into each other like a swirl of colors on canvas, chaotic and hopeful. Dan needed more; could feel Phil push closer against him, hands roaming from the angle of his jaw to clench themselves against the nape of his neck. Dan tightened his grip on the silky locks encaptured in his fingertips, free hand settling itself against the toned skin of Phil's torso, curling against him in silent but steady support.

The air was hazy, and thick with silvery disbelief. Submerged so deeply in that which had consumed him for so long, shockwaves of too-strong emotions coursed through Dan's nerves with a trembling, erratic pulse. Had he known that true happiness felt this good earlier, maybe he would have given it a chance. His past didn't seem to matter in this moment, though, his roiling thoughts barely coherent enough to encompass the gentle lips sliding and locking against his own.

Phil seemed to collapse into him, and Dan was glad to finally be the one holding him up. His breath was hot against frosty skin, an airy sigh so much lighter than his usual low voice that Dan quickly stowed it deep within himself, imprinting it into his muddled memory for lonely nights to come. It was all too blurry, too hallucinogenic, too _Phil,_ and Dan couldn't get enough. The hesitant warmth of his skin, the arching curve of his lips against Dan's, the thin crease of his eyelids, shuttered closed to conceal his dangerously hypnotizing eyes. It _was_ too dangerous for Dan, all of it, and he absently wondered how he might survive without it.

They broke apart finally, soft sighs arching into the pillows below them as the last wisping tendrils of the moment threaded themselves into the surrounding darkness. Dan caught Phil's misty eyes once more, the slight upturn of his lips enough to seal the silence.

He burrowed further into the pillow, mirroring Phil doing the same across from him. Phil's cautious fingertips brushed against Dan's, holding onto the longest one carefully, as though he may disappear at any moment. The emotions, alcohol and excitement of the night seemed injected into his body, and his eyelids succumbed to their pull at last.

Dan didn't bother to glance at the clock, the stars outside his barred windows an indicator enough of the hour. A soft smile curved itself against his lips as he drifted off to sleep, Phil's nearly imperceptible breaths losing themselves in the cold air around them.

Maybe tonight, the silence didn't feel quite so lonely.

  
  


  
  


  
  


The glare of marred light outside was insistent as Dan blinked away the shadows playing across the backs of his eyelids. Groaning slightly, he rolled over to check the time on his phone. _Dead._ It struck him as slightly odd that he wouldn't have it charged, and he groggily fumbled for its slinky white counterpart under the thick layer of discarded junk that covered his floor. He paused for a moment, fingertips freezing against the smooth rubber that encased the wire as he felt a movement next to him.

 _Another person? In my bed?_ He rolled over slowly, ears pricking at the soft sleeping breaths that graced the heavy air.

A shock of ebony hair met Dan's surprised eyes, the porcelain skin that he had fantasized about for far longer than he cared to admit sprawled across his worn bedsheets. _Phil._ Dan couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face as he watched his friend sleep, peaceful and unguarded.

Along with a sudden throbbing hangover, the memories of last night came crashing into Dan's consciousness like a jumbled mass of yarn, and he sifted through each thread with a hint of apprehension. He could only hope he hadn't completely made a fool of himself. _The party. Feeling so right in Phil's passenger seat on the way there. PJ's welcoming smile, Marlene's venomous one. A pristine ivory ping pong ball, glass after glass freezing my fingertips, burning my throat. Chris' conflicted plea, a pattering of footsteps up a winding staircase._

He sighed audibly at his mottled words in the bathroom, Phil's beautiful eyes heavy with burden. _His pain was all my fault_ , Dan lamented, scolding himself for letting his gruff ways push his favorite person farther away. It had all turned out alright, though, hadn't it? A leap into the chilled night air, clumsy footfalls and they were here, by some miracle.

 _Was that all?_ He glanced again at Phil's sleeping form, so delicate under the thin light filtering in through the blinds, and it hit him. _The kiss. We had_ kissed. Mind suddenly racing, Dan stumbled off of the mattress, careful not to awaken Phil even amidst the turmoil threatening to spill over. He leaned against the counter in his tiny cooking area, pinching his forehead against the pounding headache that had consumed him.

 _How had that happened? Did I_ make _him kiss me? Maybe I took my previously harmless crush too far, and he was too polite or possibly drunk to turn me away? Oh, God. I couldn't have done that. Not to Phil._

Despite his self-assurances, he was terrified, mind already running wild with scenarios of Phil getting up this morning and walking straight out of his life. Dan could see it as clear as reality; maybe Phil wouldn't even look at him, betrayal radiating off of him like the warmth he used to bear. He would quietly show himself out, still too kind to let Dan know that he had really overstepped his bounds this time. And what could Dan say—that he hadn't meant it?

He couldn't lie to Phil. It meant a lot more than nothing for Dan.

He would just have to watch his closest friend's thin form walk out his door for the last time, apartment somehow even emptier than it had been before. He would have to work the rest of this dealer job out, the thrill of excitement that shot through him at the jingle of the doorbell dulling with each lonely day, until finally he would forget the beloved sight of Phil standing beneath the dilapidated doorframe, sun streaming in behind him like a halo. That last portion of this twisted tangent was a lie, though, and Dan knew it. He could never forget Phil.

The bedsheets rustled across the room, and Dan's panicked mind snapped back to the present. He managed to hide most of himself behind the partition between the living/bedroom and the kitchen, watching Phil slowly rise and look around. The confusion on his somehow-still-adorable-while-hungover face caused Dan to chuckle slightly, and Phil's head whipped around to find the sound immediately.

Dan cursed his awkward position of creepily watching him, until the bright smile spread upon Phil's face made him forget anything he was thinking of before.

“Good morning, Dan!” Dan could only manage a small wave and a tremulous smile in return, awaiting the realization that would surely hit Phil at any moment. His grin only widened, though, hand raising to cautiously feel his messy bedhead. “I must look ridiculous, like a koala who happened to oversleep, musn't I?” Phil's eyes took on a sheepish glint as they met Dan's.

“You look fine,” Dan managed to choke out, struggling to restrain himself from blurting out just how adorable he looked with his hair sticking out in all different directions, like the chunky illustrations of rays of sunshine you find in grade school. “Better than my hobbit hair, if it's any consolation.” Dan grimaced, reaching up to tug at the frazzled tendrils that had invaded his perfectly drab life at a young age. Phil opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it and countered the statement with a small smile.

“Do you have a killer headache, too, by any chance?” He faltered a bit, placing a soft white hand against his forehead and groaning slightly. Dan smirked, going to the sink to fill him up a glass of water. “A real killer, huh. Yeah, me too, actually.” He crossed the room, willing himself not to spill any liquid on Phil's frazzled form. “Hell of a night, right?”

“Must have been,” Phil graciously reached for the glass, grasping it lightly and not letting go for a moment as their fingers lapsed over each other. “I don't remember much of anything.” His voice took on an odd edge to it, and he met Dan's eyes with a serious gaze, not breaking contact even as he let go of the cup. “...do you?”

Dan couldn't figure out what Phil wanted him to say, as intent as he seemed upon receiving a response. If he didn't remember anything out of the ordinary, though, maybe the kiss didn't even really happen. Dan couldn't say this would be the first time he had dreamed of it. He hastily decided to take this golden opportunity to preserve their friendship, whilst ignoring the rippling disappointment that passed through him.

“Not a minute of it.” Dan tried to manage a small smile, but it was difficult against Phil's unreadable gaze. They finally broke contact as Phil raised the glass to his mouth, eyes flicking away from his friend's too quickly. _Does he really not remember?_ Dan wasn't going to risk it. “So, cereal?”

That dazzling grin was back as Phil propped himself up, trailing behind Dan towards the kitchenette. “Depends. Only if you have lucky charms!”

“That could be arranged.”

  
  


A few clumsy minutes later, littered with spilt cereal and profuse yet insincere (given away by the desperately restrained laughter) apologies, Dan found himself sitting at his very own counter, cheerios at hand, with the legendary Phillip Lester. Phil's close-fitting party clothes from the night before were slightly rumpled from sleep, and he snuck a guilty glance at the cereal bits on the floor every once in a while, but in general, he seemed to fit into Dan's cluttered life here all too well.

“Sorry for the mess, by the way. I'm not the most tidy person you'll ever meet.” Dan smiled sheepishly, following his gaze to the muddled jumble of clothing strewn about.

“Oh, that's not even what I was thinking at all. I'm the same way, if it makes you feel any better.” Phil's wide eyes blinked up at Dan.

“Shut _up._ I saw your car yesterday—fucking immaculate!” The edges of his familiar lips quirked upwards just barely at Dan's small tirade.

“Well, I happened to clean it, for—well, to pick you up... Some people absolutely have to have it that way or they will insist on sitting on the roof; I wasn't sure what type of car person you were!”

“ _Car people?_ Phiiiiil... you can't honestly tell me you've met people like that.” Dan found himself giggling at Phil's defensive outburst, trying to fight down the warm blush that had had risen to his cheeks at the thought that Phil cleaned up his car just for _him_.

“I can, and I will! I meet loads of odd people, its like I'm some kind of magnet!” Dan knew plenty of people, namely himself, who would gladly gravitate into Phil's magnetic field, but decided to keep that little tidbit to himself.

“Whatever you say. So, tell me, what typically clogs up the luxurious foot space of the Lester-mobile, then?”

“Well... my parents won't let me keep my extended plant family in the house, so..” A conspiratorial glint lit up his kaleidoscope eyes, and Dan had to suck in a short breath to steady himself.

“...So... you keep a variety of _potted plants_ in your _car_? Am I getting this correct?”

“You wouldn't tell my parents, would you?” A flash of uneasiness spread across his open, earnest face. Dan nearly snorted, having no intentions of coming within a square mile of Phil's upscale parents. From the way he had described them, it was hard to believe that Phil was even related to them, what with the extreme contrast in personalities between them.

“Hmm, welllll... I _may_ be able to keep a secret, in exchange for a favor.” Dan cursed himself for his smart mouth; this was his past self coming out, unable to ignore a hint of weakness in order to get ahead.

“Mmm, is that so? And what might that be?” Phil hummed curiously, and Dan realized that he didn't even know what he wanted from Phil. Well, that which would be appropriate for one _friend_ to ask of another. He went with the first idea that crossed his mind.

“Go to fall orientation with me.” It only then struck Dan how much he wanted it. How much he _needed_ Phil there with him. Phil's eyes softened, a warm caribbean teal that threatened to suck Dan in like a riptide.

“Thought you'd never ask.” He peeked over the rim of his mug of gritty coffee. Dan had never found the need to drink coffee himself, yet Phil had somehow managed to unearth a packet of the powdered stuff from the back of his cupboard, which had probably been there since the first ice age, and insisted on brewing it. “The grand castle Maltrus.” His voice was far-off, and musing, until his attention snapped back to the present. “Chris should be there, as well. And Peej, I suppose, if Chris is going.” A flicker of recognition sparked in Dan's mind at the names he mentioned.

“I think I remember talking to Chris last night, actually. About Maltrus.” Dan didn't mention his dejected tone, or the odd conflict in his eyes. Phil simply chuckled fondly.

“I'm glad you got to meet him. Him and PJ are my best mates; I hoped you might like them.” Dan couldn't refuse his blinding grin. “Can't say the same about most of the others there last night, though. Quite a snobbish bunch.”

“Agreed. I didn't get to see much of PJ, actually. The host, if I recall?” The words came out strained and awkward; maybe Dan remembered him a little too well. He felt a dark thrill of jealousy shoot though him at the image of PJ whisking Phil away from him last night.

“Yeah. I don't know how he stands some of the people he had there; probably didn't even invite half of the group. Then again, Peej can get along with pretty much anybody on earth, and he and Chris do love to have a good time.” He gets that far-off look again, and Dan wonders slightly what world he is in at this moment.

He doesn't call Phil back to earth just yet, settling into the comfortable silence and smiling despite himself as he traces the dream-blurred lines of Phil's features. Phil really doesn't give himself enough credit, socially; it's like he can't tell how the room seems to resist the pull of gravity as soon as he steps foot into it. _While I dampen spirits wherever I go,_ Dan grumbles to himself, _dark corners expanding to swallow up all of its hapless victims, and there's nothing I can do to stop it._

It is virtually impossible not to feel at some sort of ease in Phil's presence, or get swept up into his infectious excitement like a ripcurl crashing around you in all directions. Dan doesn't see himself possessing the open, friendly aura that seems to follow PJ everywhere he goes, nor the edgy, creative genius that he can tell inhabits Chris' mind even from their one meeting. He's not sure if he'll ever know how his own jagged puzzle piece fits into the expansive canvas of Phil's mind, but Dan will be grateful for it right up until the day Phil realizes how much better he can do.

“I suppose you do remember a thing or two from last night, then.” The silence is broken with Phil's soft, rich tenor. Dan again fails to comprehend the flash of emotion behind his cool irises. Before he can respond, Phil's pulling on a jacket and tapping at his phone, mask of jolly indifference firmly back in place. “Gotta go find my car before my phone can die on me; battery's at like negative 3 percent, you know? My potted children are missing their home anyways.” Dan is not sure if it's a twitch, or if Phil actually just winked at him. He settles for a low laugh in response, and in a flurry of movement, Phil is clinging to his tarnished doorknob.

“Thanks for coming last night, Dan. It really is a lot better with you there.” Dan can't quite seem to grasp how _Phil_ is saying this to _him_ , but he recognizes the sentiment.

“Ditto. You know who to call next time you want to ruin a perfectly good party.”

Phil's hearty laugh echoes against the cold metal stairwell walls, and the click of the door closing cuts it off before Dan is ready to stop hearing its jingling tone. It's impossible to wrestle back the wide, cheshire smile that streaks across his features as he recalls his last few moments with Phil. _So maybe he doesn't hate me after all—or has forgotten, at least._ Again, the insistent pull of something heavy in Dan's chest regrets the fact that the moment they shared wasn't even brought up, although the logical part of him is grateful for the amnesia.

 _But what was the last thing he said, before making an excuse and leaving?_ Dan takes a deep gulp of the stagnant water glass before him, head pounding with even more weight due to his current confusion. _Does he know? Does_ he _know that_ I _know?_ This is all becoming a little too much for Dan to process, and he is not sure he even wants to know the answer just yet. The flash of hurt barely glinting behind Phil's glassy eyes was enough for him to never want to contemplate this puzzle again.

He laid back in the unmade bed, bunching up the covers around him in a giant cocoon.

The unmistakable indentation of Phil's head in the pillow next to him is the last thing Dan sees before his eyes shutter closed for the rest of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao im fake deep no need to tell me twice--thank you to anyone still trudging through this strug-fest, you are such sweethearts and i love you so!! Thank you to infinity for the kudos and comments and everything--it has made my day countless times!!!


	6. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait, homework has consumed my entire life but yay spring break! real talk im definitely gonna try to make more time for writing this quarter cos I really do miss it sometimes! (also v rusty so i apologize for awk diction haha--a month or two of calc kinda makes you forget!)

Dan found himself sitting on a slatted bench across from the Maltrus main campus all too soon, his body much too still to contain the anxious jolts shivering through his nerves at the very thought of joining the masses headed inside. He had to squint rather unattractively into the blasted cheerful sunlight flooding in to be able to sift out the shapes of approaching figures in the distance, but above all he was relieved that he had asked Phil to be here today. The thought of braving the crowds all alone was enough to make his stomach hurtle itself against the base of his ribcage threateningly, so Dan would be thrilled to have a little support, or company, in the least.

And, of course, he couldn't deny the small part of him that stirred a little faster at the thought of simply seeing Phil again.

 _That is, if he ever decided to show up._ Dan glanced down for the hundredth time at the thin leather band around his wrist—the one and only gift he would ever receive from his long-estranged uncle. It had come with a warning: punctuality was not an option in the line of work they carried out, but rather a deadly requirement.

Apparently, Phil had never been clued into this particular life lesson, as his wavering form blurred into focus before Dan's weary retinas about 12 minutes late. Dan didn't bother glancing down at the cool precision of his watch to check, instead huffing out a fond sigh as his eyes followed every step of Phil's typical, casually jaunty gait. A smile spread across the auburn-haired boy's face as he pondered how he could tell it was Phil by that damned quirky walk alone; the cruel rays of sky shimmying down in a sheen allowed nothing to be seen at a distance except for a bare silhouette.

It was only when Phil drew nearer, delicate fingertips pitched up in an enthusiastic gesture, that Dan noticed the two people walking beside him. Their lanky forms paced closer and closer together, as if engaged in some unconscious game of chicken. Thin limbs crisscrossed and jostled, creating the illusion of two elongated shadows more often interconnected than not.

Phil was set slightly apart from both of them, his pace quickening as he approached the bench. Dan gingerly picked himself up from his sitting position, not sure how exactly to greet his painfully platonic friend. As soon as his easy, grinning features faded into view, though, a wave of nerves and relief flooded though Dan, and he found himself wrapping his arms around Phil's torso in a bit of a desperate lunge. Phil was clearly as surprised as Dan was by the hug, judging by the way he froze beneath his arms, and Dan's brain was sent into a panic at the sharp intake of breath next to his ear. _Had I finally messed up; come on too strong? Oh god, it was just an impulse. Is he going to push me away? Will his friends laugh at me?_

After an agonizing second or two of overthinking, he was able to relax, when Phil _finally_ raised his arms to return the gesture, patting Dan's back softly in a manner that was a little awkward and entirely Phil-like. He chuckled lightly, nestling his head against his taller friend's shoulder, and Dan felt his breath stutter.

“You're nervous.” It was barely audible. It could have been a trick of the breeze, but both knew better. Dan could recognize the gentle tones of Phil's voice anywhere. He laughed drily, and Phil smiled into his collarbone, not needing to look up for Dan to know who he was addressing.

Dan was thankful for that, as the raw flush streaking across his cheeks was pretty hard to ignore. “Who, me? I'm cool as a cucumber. A _sea_ cucumber. In the _Arctic Ocean._ That's how cool I am.”

Phil finally released him, quirking an eyebrow at Dan’s cheesy grin. Any pride Dan had left crumbled beneath his friend’s open, damned _adorable_ expression. “Well, yeah. Maybe a little.” It was a resigned mumble, and Dan was missing the warmth of his arms already. He couldn't fight a reluctant grin, though, as Phil's glinting eyes caught the fleeting light of a new idea.

“Well, be as mopey as you want. _I,_ for one, _know_ that today is going to be positively delightful. And I have _never_ told a lie.” A few contradictory snorts from the intertwining figures who had followed Phil in reminded both boys of their presence, smirks painted across both of their otherwise kind-looking faces.

Phil, in turn, attempted to pull an offended expression, but it collapsed into an infectious smile at his two friends. Dan couldn't help but feel a hint of jealousy course through him at their easy exchange.

He still spent a small piece of every day with Phil worrying himself sick over the fact that Phil could just up and abandon him any day to go be with his cooler, _better_ friends. And Dan wouldn't blame him even one bit. And it was so selfish of him, because in theory _everyone_ should have someone as special as Phil in their lives, yet when it came down to it, Dan irrationally wanted everything that Phil was all to himself.

“Oh, Dan, I'm sure you remember PJ and Chris, from the other night?” They both perked up slightly as each of their names was voiced, PJ's mysterious emerald eyes pitching Dan a serene smile, while Chris puffed up his cheeks, amber eyes bugging out slightly as if he too were surprised by his attendance. Dan couldn't help but laugh quietly, the strange jut of his thin shoulders all too familiar.

“Good to see you in the light of day, Dan! Looks like we may be seeing a lot more of you, if Chris can manage to not get kicked out first semester.” PJ grinned fondly at his slightly shorter friend, and Dan cringed inwardly at his premature judgement of PJ; he seemed friendly and truly kind, and Dan couldn't help but be grateful for the casual, _equal_ manner in which the curly-haired boy regarded him with. It was a gentle humbleness rarely found in the circles PJ revolved in, and Dan found himself no longer questioning how he and Phil got on.

Chris shrugged in turn, acknowledging the occurrence as entirely possible, a wry smile painted across his face as he turned to meet Dan's eyes. “I feel as if I'm speaking with royalty. The beer pong _king,_ to be exact.” PJ hastily whipped a hand over his mouth, attempting to stop his slightly exasperated giggles from pouring out as Chris continued on in a high-pitched, sorry attempt at a Renaissance accent. “Thank you, sire, for your gift of beverage during the fortnight of peril.”

“Oh god, _stop,_ Chris, you have to go to _school_ with these people.” PJ tugged at his sleeve half-heartedly, clearly conscious of the many stares that the antics had attracted, yet equal parts amused. Chris only seemed to gain further incentive from PJ's embarrassment, refusing to lower his tone.

“I must request your attendance at further _festivities_ over the course of—“ His words were muffled, descending into a high giggle as PJ finally shoved his hand over the offender's mouth, beaming endearingly at his captive. They began to wrestle jokingly, swatting arms away from each other and grinning from ear to ear as they made their way through the imposing school gates.

Dan couldn't stop the laughter that pealed out of his throat at the display, falling into step with Phil. The quieter boy, for his part, seemed to be in his own world as usual, sunlight sliding across the edged planes of his features like it belonged there, as he stared off into the sky with a quiet, bemused expression. Luckily or not ( _who was I to disrupt his daydreams?_ ), he noticed Dan's presence soon after the taller boy glanced over at him; Dan wanted only to capture the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes as Phil smiled at him encouragingly, never letting the endearing folds of ivory skin flatten into the recesses of memory. _If only he knew how much this meant to me._

 

Dan had hoped, prayed, and begged whatever could possibly exist out there for even a shred of companionship as he set foot in this next lonely, terrifying chapter of his life. And yet, Phil was so much _more._ He had tumbled into Dan's life at the last minute, with his careening, contagious energy, bringing with him grinning friends, late nights, mornings no longer dripping with dread. It all added up to something Dan had never quite realized he needed, and as he watched the sunlight stream down pale and wavering in comparison to his best friend's taciturn smile, he had to remind himself that he was so _not_ going to cry here.

 

“They seem to like you.” Dan couldn't say that he expected the words, but they curled around him like a welcome breeze in the dead heat of summer. Phil's response to his already watery gaze, a blank, questioning facade pulled over indulgent hopefulness, was sincere. “Really.” A bony, gentle shoulder collided with Dan's, and he met the shorter boy's mischievous grin. “Can't for the life of me figure out why, though. Such a rude bloke.”

 

“I'll have you know, my mother says that I am a lovely young man.” Though Dan would never tell him, he was grateful for the lightened tone of their conversation. The tall wrought-iron doors shrouding his vision sought to swallow him in one bite.

“Sure. That's what she tells _you._ ” Phil stuck out a tiny prick of tongue at him, and Dan couldn't help but laugh as he yanked open the door handles before them. “I, for one, have heard some pretty vicious rumors spread by none other than your dear mum herself.”

 

Unconsciously, Dan had turned in the direction of the most barren corner of the room, his brain urging him to sit in the backrow by himself in isolation. However, it was a soft tug at his elbow, along with Chris' echoing call that pulled him back into the moment and dragged him near the center of the room.

With PJ and Chris chattering to his left, a seat reserved specifically for _him_ holding him up off the ground, and Phil on his right, leaning in closer and brushing against Dan slightly every time he interacted with the other two, Dan could barely pay attention to the presentation up ahead. Every square meter of the room seemed to be overflowing with the best kind of distraction—the echoing beat in his head insisting that maybe he could get used to this _having friends_ thing after all.

 

 

It doesn't hit Dan right away; it doesn't _convince_ him. He can't quite believe in his very own future tucked amidst the clean printed font of the registration papers they shove into his slack arms. He can't see it, no matter how hard he squints, in the sharp edges of the buildings he wanders through, sleepwalking, his footsteps falling in the indentations left by the tour guide charging ahead.

All he can truly focus on is Phil's fluid touch. Their fingers sway and collide like buoys rocking on the open sea, and Dan can feel himself dangling closer as they walk. The gritty cement of the sidewalk doesn't seem real, even as they allow it to guide them out for the day. Dan's vision is clouded with the ridiculous amount of Maltrus paraphernalia that Chris somehow procured, dripping off of him as he dashes into the shotgun seat of Phil's personal iceberg, ignoring the owner's desperate pleas to _please watch the plants as you get in._ Dan can feel the ridged brush of said leaves against his skin each time the car rounds a bend; their lithe-stemmed bodies bouncing merrily as if used to it.

PJ, who has crashed into the backseat along with him, brushes against Dan's shoulder every so often, and the excitement seems to radiate off of him in waves. Chris whips around to make conversation the whole ride, lurching comically in his seat, and Phil eyes him warily each time he jerks and spasms. It seems like he and PJ never stop talking, laughing and bouncing ludicrous ideas off of each other at the speed of light, and Dan doesn't mind in the slightest.

 

The foreign sound of his own laughter jingles in the cramped air and every once in a while he can catch Phil's glassy eyes in the rearview mirror and everything around him seems to slow to a dull throb of color and movement and he forgets what it feels like for oxygen to make its way into his lungs for just this moment.

“To the Lester residence, I assume?” Chris, in his leisurely way, doesn’t even spare Dan an uneasy glance following his assumption. PJ is quick to grip the seat-back in front of him like a steering wheel, dragging its creased leather in haphazard directions like a Grand Prix finalist. “I will gladly accompany, in hopes that the Czar and his ice queen have not yet returned.” Chris pulls a comically disgusted face at the thought, and Phil’s acquiescent smile is too tight against his skin.

A beat of silence passes, and Dan realizes, for once, he has a say in something. It nearly renders him speechless. Nearly. “When you put it _that_ way, how could I say no?” PJ and Chris’ welcoming grins beam back at him, and he briefly wonders if maybe _they_ might be excited at the prospect of a new friend as well. It’s almost enough to drown out Phil’s unexplained mood, but Dan couldn’t bring himself to brush off his best friend’s wishes. “...If that’s alright with the host?” The well-masked panic in Phil’s eyes as Dan meets them is fleeting, and he ducks out of sight in a brief nod.

“ ‘Course.”

 

 

The mood in the car had visibly dampened as soon as they pulled into the driveway; a cold silver Mercedes glinted ominously from behind a row of rose bushes so identically maintained they could just as well have been copy and pasted in a steady, uninspired chain. The entranceway was even wider and more dense than Dan had expected; pristine wrought-iron gated the property for miles in every direction. Even though the sun had begun to wane above them, Phil had procured rounded black sunglasses from some compartment of his car, and they slid down his nose a centimeter or two as he reached out the car window. Dan pretended not to notice the slight tremor in his thin candlestick fingers as he punched a long series of numbers into the keypad, and slipped a sharp-edged key out from his sleeve.

The many precautions had been completed, and as the towering doors physically groaned at Phil’s entrance, Dan finally came to wonder if they were necessary at all. Valuables aside, he couldn’t think of many who would be clamoring to _enter_ this grim manor.

Chris seemed to read his mind, as he lurched across the seat to whisper in Dan’s ear, “It’s more to keep people in, rather than out.” Following a sharp smack from PJ, Chris swiveled and reached for his seat belt. Phil, for his part, pretended not to hear the words passed around in his backseat, nor feel the weight of Dan’s gaze on the back of his head as he guided the car into a questionable parking space near the pristine garden on the left flank; it was defined only by familiar tire tracks, unlike the four other available spots that Dan could see precisely lined up to the right of the front door. Or, at least, what he assumed was the front door. His vision of the house was vaguely concealed by a large weeping willow tree which trailed its branching tendrils right in the line of sight.

By the time they stepped out of the car, finally finding their footing on the even pavement before them, a blur of white-blond curls that could be seen from afar in the sitting room window began to sharpen more and more into focus, and each of the boys had fallen into an anticipatory silence.

Dan couldn’t restrain himself from sneaking glances at Phil, running his eyes over his tense, slumped form with increasing concern. He wished he could make it better, or even just say _something_ to him. He was so infuriatingly out of his league here.

Instinctively, Dan lurched out and grabbed Phil’s elbow. Much like the rest of Phil’s limbs, it felt too thin and nervous; he often found it endearing that at most joints in his body, Phil’s bones seemed to be attempting to escape, or trip him up in the least, but now it just worried him that Phil may split apart in his very arms, and he could do nothing about it. Or, even worse, he may have everything to do with it. Dan brushed away that notion, feeling Phil’s questioning gaze on him through the deeply opaque shades over his eyes. PJ and Chris carried on ahead, content in their own minds for a minute or two.

“Are you alright? Do you want me to leave? Phil, I don’t want to stress you out by imposing myself.” Dan’s low hiss in the humid air was speckled with unspoken pleas; _I hope beyond hope that I am actually the opposite of this problem, so if I am to leave, won’t you come away with me?_ Phil’s thin lips faltered. _Damn those sunglasses._

“Of course not, Dan, you’re always welcome. I don’t know why I haven’t brought you earlier.” Dan already knew what that meant, and it was not what he had wanted to hear. _Why run away when it will only postpone the problem? We both know exactly why I haven’t brought you earlier._ It was difficult to hear, but Dan was determined to be here for Phil just like he had been for Dan countless times, today included. It was clear that this was hard for Phil, and he was about to find out exactly why. He gave Phil’s elbow a fond squeeze and let it drop, picking up their path towards the mansion once again.

Phil seemed to hesitate before he spoke again, softly and more vulnerable than Dan had ever heard him. “Hey, Dan, today really was a great day, wasn’t it?” Satiated by Dan’s encouraging smile, he continued, “Right. Just—be sure to remember that, alright?” Dan could barely nod in slightly baffled agreement before his foot caught the first step of cold marble stair.

PJ and Chris stood poised by the knocker, glaring down at the two with joking exasperation at their slow pace. Dan stood his ground, swaying only a little as Phil gingerly made his way up the steps, almost as if he feared making a single mark on the marble. It wasn’t until the clanging knock rang out, and a homely middle-aged woman in a clean-cut navy dress opened the door for the other three that Dan finally found his cue to trail in behind the rest.

He had expected a few raised eyebrows upon his entrance to Phil’s home life, as he could safely assume he didn’t come across as the usual type that Phil might socialize with, but the woman at the door’s quick appraisal of him seemed kind, and her deep green eyes were soft as she nodded at him briefly. He followed her brisk movements as she latched the door shut behind him, and turned to study the grand staircase that lay in wait. He assumed it led to a second floor, to some kind of bedroom arrangement. The ground floor was decadent enough, with cold glass tables immaculately set, reinforced gold-plated window frames, and spiraling arches lacing across the ceiling. Slight goosebumps had raised on PJ and Chris’ bare arms, and Dan shivered slightly; Phil did not seem bothered by the frigid air, and Dan followed his friend’s hopelessly unsubtle gaze to his right. If Dan strained his neck, he could see a clearly unused, white gilded hearth in an expansive drawing room, with a flock of enormous emerald chairs set spaciously in range of its nonexistent glow, sitting indifferently with their backs toward him. Amidst the forest green fabric drawn tight against its stuffing of the rightmost armchair, he could make out the rigid arm of a man, definitely older than himself if the clean suit cuffs and glinting Rolex were enough to go by. An uncreased newspaper stood stiff before him, clenched between thick fingertips. He had not moved a muscle even as the door whined on its hinges to alert the house of its new guests.

Dan unconsciously took a step closer, fascinated and simultaneously repulsed, but was interrupted by the severe clacking of high heels on slick tile behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Phil immediately stiffen, whirling to face the pendulum beat. The woman who had let them in and was now tidying the entry area faltered ever so slightly, turning to face the left entryway with her hands crossed pensively before her. Dan reluctantly brought his eyes to the thin figure approaching them at an aggressive clip. She was extremely pale, from the nearly white curls that she speared back with heavy silver pins, to the eerie colorless skin that stretched across her sharp features. She teetered on long stilt legs, a dark amethyst silk dress draped over her jagged form. Anyone could see where Phil had received his snow white skin and pronounced features, but Dan found a much more endearing edge to the way that Phil carried himself on the same gangly limbs that towered before him.

“I see you made it home at your leisure, Phillip.” Her voice came out slightly lower than expected, not the slice of a needle but rather a thick mist descending lower and lower upon its victims. Phil only nodded demurely, eyes trained on the pristine marble tile at her feet. “And with… company, I see.” Dan didn’t want to look up, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn’t acknowledge him. “Mr. Liguori, Mr. Kendall, and… who might this be?”

He regretted meeting her eyes. They were a beautiful ice-blue, like Phil’s, but narrow, jaded, heavy with the intent to pluck him apart and leave her maid to clean up the remains. She raked her eyes over him, his slightly rumpled slacks and hastily ironed bangs, as if he were not a breathing being, but rather some distasteful wooden curiosity. Dan had faced down more than his share of sickening opponents on the street, but this somehow felt all the more hopeless; raw anger bubbled in the pit of his stomach, but there was nothing he could do about it. For once, it wasn’t his own safety that he was terrified for. She glanced between him and Phil as if her son had come home with some sort of horrific pox, and she wanted nothing more than for a reason to rid her house of both forever.

“It’s Dan—Daniel, Mother. Daniel Howell.” Dan could physically feel the stoic woman’s scrutiny leave him to focus back on her son. He silently thanked Phil for saving him, or maybe stopping him from a rash outburst, but couldn’t help but feel as if he had made things a lot worse for his friend by being here. An ice-ridden minute passed. “He is my friend.” Dan couldn’t help but smile weakly through the muddle of concern he felt for the other boy.

“…I see. Welcome, Mr. Hall.” She didn’t spare him a glance as she hissed out the words. Dan didn’t expect her to. He bit back a retort at her purposeful disinterest in his name, sure that any reaction would only cause more trouble for Phil. _This is a different kind of fight._ Phil, for his part, had started for the stairs, albeit a bit desperately, before his footsteps were halted by another insistence.

“Phillip, does it pain you so to spare one more minute of your frivolous time with your own mother?” His entire body seemed to sigh as he turned back, gesturing wildly to his friends at the staircase in a universal sign to _save yourselves._ Chris and PJ scurried up without being told twice, fingers trailing lightly against the rail. Dan hung back reluctantly, only following once he met Phil’s darkened, warning eyes. He made his way up the stairs, hovering near the top, where he could make out parts of the scene below, and hear the words being hurtled with a low echo.

“What is it, Mother?” Dan’s musings on where his friend’s slight Northern accent had arisen from were interrupted as the sharp woman stepped forward, slapping Phil’s nervous hand away from where it had been fidgeting with a button on his coat.

“Have I not told you to stop playing with your clothes? That coat is worth more than you.” A surge of fury had risen up hot in Dan’s veins, and he fisted his left hand at his side, forcing the other to steady itself on the railing.

“Of course.” The air was tense, and he could feel the older woman’s cold gaze on his friend even from up above. Phil sighed softly. “Mother, what do you have to say to me?”

“Oh, nothing. Simply that you have been abandoning your studies all day to go fool around god knows where, you seem to deem it appropriate to bring anyone you please into my home, you continually refuse to park the car you don’t deserve with the rest of the family, and… I think you _know_ what else, Phillip.” Dan cursed inwardly, unable to see Phil’s silent response to the woman’s biting words. He was disgusted at the malice in the exchange, but couldn’t deny the curiosity that crept in on him. _What else could there possibly be for sweet, innocent Phil to be ‘sorry’ for?_ Phil’s mother called out once again, for once in a weaker, more imploring tone.

“Simon, dear?”

It didn’t take long for Dan to piece together that the words were directed at a certain man sat poised in the drawing room, who didn’t welcome disturbances of any kind, if Dan’s assumptions were correct. It seemed as if the silence that fell once again was all too familiar to the clustered manor; it clung to the walls with a slack carelessness in its movements, toppling the impersonal candlesticks and fine vases ritually placed around the room like monuments to a deity that walked not amidst the clouds above but on the meticulously scrubbed tiles among them.

Even the figurines that were Phil and his mother arguing below seemed like guests between the off-white walls that encased them; only the concentrated silence seemed truly at home.

“…Yes?” It was low, not booming and wide, as Dan’s mind had extrapolated it to be, but cutting like a boa constrictor making its slow, confident path to its prey.

 “Your _son_ has taken it upon himself to churn up the soil by the garden once again.”

“Phillip. Is this true?” A hesitation; Dan could feel his nails carving tiny crescents against the palm of his hand.

“It is, Father, I… in a way. I like to park by the willow tree.”

“Oh, you _like_ to, is it? Do you suppose that changes—“ Phil’s mother broke in briefly, momentarily falling silent as her husband’s chilling words resumed.

“A minor disappointment is a disappointment nonetheless. Don’t forget that again.”

Clearly done with the conversation, the echoes of Phil’s father died down and his mother continued in a more hushed, brusque tone.

“Is it so difficult for you to color in the lines? Phillip, you need to straighten out. You can’t continue to make a farce of this family.” Phil whirled on his heel and took to the stairs, only able to keep his composure for so long, only to be stopped by the woman’s clenched talon on his elbow. Dan could barely make out the sharp words that she hissed in his ear. “No matter how wealthy we may be, we can _not_ afford another Martin.” _Martin?_ Dan found himself more confused with every new sentence that he was never supposed to hear.

The words seemed to hit their mark exactly, as Phil shook his arm out of her grip, dashing up the stair without looking back. His face was too troubled as he rounded the bend; Dan wanted to pry the weight off of his back, claw at the invisible strings drawing his brows down low over such pretty crystal eyes. The urge to pull his friend into his arms until all his sorrows fell away was overwhelming, almost so much so that Dan forgot he wasn’t supposed to be out here, listening in on private conversations. _Almost._ His sharpened instincts for self-preservation were dragging him away before he could truly fight them, and he found himself tucked away in the nearest bathroom long before Phil could sense his presence in the hall. He trailed his friend’s wavering movements through a brass keyhole, probably a bit of overkill, as Phil simply pushed open a door several feet from where he had summited the stairwell and disappeared inside. So _that_ was where Dan was supposed to be right now. _Good to know._

He counted off a few spare minutes before following Phil’s path, although the slick glass doorknob still felt pleasantly warm from Phil’s touch. The door swung upon to reveal a surprisingly average-sized room, littered with a sparse collection of, albeit well-crafted and expensive looking, furniture. The bedframe was a composition of curling and twisting chestnut, with painted gold accents faintly tracing its smoke signal curves. Dan could definitely see the resemblance to Phil in it, its loose, gloriously eccentric joints forced into the closest form of symmetry they could manage. The bedspread also struck Dan as innately Phil-like, with its roiling patterns of azure and nearly imperceptible silver as unpredictable as the sea. Its leftmost corner dragged absentmindedly against the spring green carpeting that clung to the ground below, and the walls were a breathtaking visage of the sky at daybreak; billowing, hand-painted clouds cradled dusty exhales of rose, and whimsical smatterings of gold stars emerged from beneath their flanks like a sky shy of its freckles.  

If not for the gaudy lamps and dressers which could only plausibly serve as some kind of compromise between Phil and his mother, Dan could almost believe that he was outside, toes sunk into an enchanted riverbank, the mysterious dawn taunting its infinite wisdom of what was to come.

He finally turned his attention to the three boys sprawled on the rug, breathlessly spouting his excuse of a failed attempt to find the bathroom. They watched as his eyes hungrily canvassed the room around him once more.

“A right fairy tale, innit?” Chris chuckled, and again at Dan’s shock once the silence was broken. “Don’t go all Aurora on us and start singing or some shit, alright?”

“Aurora? That’s a pretty obscure princess for the likes of you to come up with!” PJ immediately jumped on his friend, tickling him until he was giggling too hard for any kind of response. “Got some Disney fetish you’d like to share, huh, Chris?” Chris’ giggles poured over like a fizzy drink that PJ had shaken one too many times, and his high laughter was infectious. As the excitement dissolved into something a bit quieter, PJ turned and fixed Dan with a bit of a melancholy smile. “You like the room, then? Phil painted the walls himself.”

Dan directed a wondering stare at Phil, who kept his eyes trained on the green strand of carpet that he was picking at, cheeks heating up with a slight blush. Those walls looked beyond what a professional painter may hope to achieve. Honestly, who _was_ this guy? PJ continued chattering.

“Took him long enough. Didn’t leave the room for _weeks._ ” Phil finally turned to meet his eyes, fixing Dan with an inscrutable look. A sheen of indifference over something welling far inside, reluctantly, cautiously hopeful.

Chris piped in from his heap across the room. “We thought he _died._ ”

“But, for better or for worse, he didn’t. So here we are, between these damn walls. You like them, then, do you?”

Dan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Phil’s round spyglass orbs as he spit out an answer to PJ’s inquiry.

“I—I do. I really do.”

He could have drowned in Phil’s watery smile.

 

 

The sun was slung low outside when the boys finally began to pick themselves up off the grass carpeting. PJ exited to a car awaiting in the smooth driveway, and Chris was quick to follow suit.

Dan could see that Phil wanted to offer him a ride home, but he quickly insisted he could catch a ride on the tube, not wanting to make any more trouble at home for his friend.  
He found himself hanging awkwardly at the door; his stealth techniques didn’t serve him very well on exits, it seemed.

“Your room really is special. Not quite what I would expect in this house.” He allowed himself one more glance around at his surroundings.

“Thanks,” Phil was looking around as well; memories of its foundation scattering across his vision. “It was quite the battle to avoid white walls and sterling silver everything, but it’s the one thing I wouldn’t budge on.” He chuckled drily, fleeting back to a time, possibly, when at least something was debatable. “Sorry if it was a bit of an awkward visit. I would say that it’s not usually like this, but,” his eyes dropped to investigate the patterns of shifting carpet on the ground, “it is.”

Dan could only smile a bit sadly, hand curving around the doorknob with a bit more force than necessary. “I really appreciate you having me over, Phil. I know it’s not easy.” He took to the steps quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping lions nearby. “I don’t know how you found your way to my part of town, Phil.”

There was no response.

 

It was a lonely bus ride home, but Dan didn’t mind. Condensation threw itself against the window, its escape attempts fruitless and exhausting. Dan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

**From: Phil <3**

**I came to your bakery because it’s the only one in a 20-mile radius that my parents don’t control.**

Dan wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

**To: Phil <3**

**oh.**

**From: Phil <3**

**There’s nowhere I can go without it getting back to them! They have eyes everywhere, there’s nowhere to hide I feel like I might suffocate sometimes!**

**From: Phil <3**

**They don’t even like me having sprinkles. Apparently it’s _too flamboyant._ So what if I like the pink ones?**

Dan couldn’t help but grin at his friend’s outrage. It seemed like such a small matter, and yet he _understood._ It all built up sometimes.

**To: Phil <3**

**well, either way, _I’m_ glad you showed up.**

A minute or two passed; Dan patiently kept an eye on his phone screen.

**From: Phil <3**

**Me too.**

Dan punched the stop request button impulsively, darting off of the bus and into the grocer that he had seen in passing. He suddenly had a pressing matter to attend to.

**To: Phil <3**

**are you busy tomorrow night?**

**From: Phil <3**

**Only the grounding of a century. But I have my ways. What might my plans be, then?**

**To: Phil <3**

**stop by my bakery after-hours.. maybe we’ll see about those sprinkles :)**

Even though he toted an unforeseen bag of sprinkles through the desolate streets that night, every step felt a little lighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya thanks for reading to anyone who has made it this far! I really do appreciate the comments and kudos they always make my day (and definitely convinced me to keep writing this--so thanks!)


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